


Sanders Sides Vignettes

by SpectralHeart



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Fluff and Humour, Food, Ghosts, Grocery Shopping, Heavy Angst, Humour, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Songfic, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2019-11-18 03:45:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18112625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpectralHeart/pseuds/SpectralHeart
Summary: A collection of Sanders Sides vignettes and/or drabbles; updated as I write more!





	1. linoleum floors and harsh lights (and a taste of something just right)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the funny thing about Costco: you physically cannot leave the store having bought only what you came for. Roman knows this all too well. Virgil doesn't.
> 
> [Platonic Prinxiety; Fluff and humour]

“Come  _on_ , why even  _go_  to Costco if you’re not going to try the free samples?” Roman grumbled. “A bite of milk chocolate won’t kill you.”

Rolling his eyes, Virgil pushed the outstretched sample away. “If you think you’re ever gonna get me to have anything other than dark, think again. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.” He cast a meaningful glance at their overflowing shopping cart. “Speaking of milk, I thought we were just gonna grab a bag and get out. What do we even need a Himalayan salt lamp for?”

“It’s for the  _aesthetic,”_ Roman replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And you didn’t hear me complaining when we stopped to look at headphones for twenty minutes.”

That caught Virgil’s attention; he turned around to argue. It was the opportunity Roman had been waiting for. Quick as a flash, Roman popped the chocolate into Virgil’s open mouth before he could say anything. 

“Ha! Taste my sugary wrath, you bitter Betty!” he taunted.

A second passed, then two. Virgil swallowed, his expression neutral. 

* * *

_Those two have been gone on their milk run for a lot longer than I expected,_ thought Logan idly, turning over the next page in his novel. As if on cue, the front door swung open just then. Logan looked up. In the next moment, the book was lying on the table, forgotten.

“Virgil,” he began slowly. “Why are you carrying an enormous bag of chocolate?”

“Hey, don’t get mad at  _me!_  Roman bought a  _Himalayan salt lamp!”_


	2. there's a cool blue heart you're keeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how can you wait / in the wash of the rain / you're soaked to your feet / still, you said you'd wait for me.
> 
> [Moxiety; Heavy angst]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this songfic was inspired by Cool Blue (artist: The Japanese House).

The rain falls heavy, but the weight in his chest is heavier still.

On a well-worn bench beneath a old oak tree, Patton sits, a single flower clutched in one hand. It was purple once, before a young man in a cardigan pulled its roots out of the ground and turned it grey, just like everything else he touches nowadays.

His other hand holds nothing.

The tree’s branches provide little cover, and Patton can feel the rain soaking into every square inch, until he is cold and shivering and sure that he will be dripping wet for the rest of his life. The rolling hills and gravel path stretched out before him should be a familiar view, but the rainwater blurring his vision — _not tears, not tears, not tears_ — has distorted it all beyond recognition. The sight is unsettling. He doesn’t look away.

 _Someone is coming._ These are the words that keep him rooted to his spot. He waits, not just for any old someone, but for one who will sit next to him and take his hand and shield him from the rain, or at least from feeling it. One who will finally make him feel _something_ besides rain. He waits for someone purple.

Instead, he gets someone grey.

The newcomer seems to come from nowhere. “Mind if I sit?” he asks, and slides into the empty spot on the bench without waiting for an answer. He knows none will be forthcoming.

Indeed, Patton doesn’t so much as turn his head to acknowledge the grey man. The two sit in silence for some time.

“They’re not worth it, you know,” Virgil finally says.

He receives no response besides the howling of the wind, but presses on anyway.

“Whoever you’re waiting for. They’re not worth your time. I mean, how much of a _selfish prick_ do you have to be to just leave someone stranded in this weather?”

If the words bother Patton, he doesn’t let it show. It’s almost like he doesn’t hear Virgil at all. Undeterred, Virgil tries again.

“Listen, I don’t know why you’re still here. You must have something better to do than sit around and wait for someone who’s obviously not going to show up. You _deserve_ better, anyway. This person, they’re fickle, and — and slow, and they could never, ever deserve that patient heart of yours.” Virgil stops to kick at a pebble near his feet. It doesn’t budge. He frowns.

And suddenly he’s angry, angrier than he’s ever been, and before he knows it words are spilling out of his mouth faster than he can stop them, faster than the raindrops can fall, even though he knows that not a single one will reach Patton’s ears.

“Why can’t you just _move on?_ Find someone who might actually make you happy, instead of letting you down again and again? You could have your pick of anyone — _anyone_ in the world, really, because how could anyone ever resist that sweetness of yours — and you just had to pick the one who’ll never be enough. They _left you behind,_ Patton!” He’s shouting now, and he doesn’t mean to, and it scares him how loud his voice is getting but it scares him even more how _good_ it feels. “They’re not coming back; not today, not _ever._ The sooner you realize that, the better. They’re not! How can you expect them to? They’re —”

With a shuddering breath, two things break: a voice, and a heart.

“They’re dead,” Virgil whispers, having screamed himself hoarse. His words are gravelly as they are grey. “I’m _dead,_ Patton. And you know, all of this would hurt so much less if you could just leave me behind, too.”

Patton says nothing.

The rain falls.


End file.
